


what the cat drags in

by nymja (orphan_account)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nymja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discontinued 8/7/15, sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A New Buddy

**Author's Note:**

> Dark, dark fic. Not a happy romance by any means—Ward’s a messed up person who’s done messed up things and I don’t want to shy away from that. Spoilers for the s2 finale and speculation galore. First time writing for MCU/AoS, feedback definitely appreciated.

The first time he met the man, he didn’t think anything of it. And if he were to think something, he would only think _what a lovely dog._

Because the lab was. Truly. A lovely dog. Big, yellow eyes. Lots of brown fur. He remembered how the lab enthusiastically wagged its tail, how it was wearing a smart-looking, red bandana around its neck.

“And how are you today?” He asked the lovely dog, his hands framing each side of the lab’s face as it fixed a happy smile on its canine features.

The man hadn’t said anything. And he thought nothing of it, the first time they met. All too often did owners indulge him, and sometimes he even upheld entire conversations with the injured or sick animals that came through the door. He liked talking to dogs the most. There was something more honest about them.

He gave the lovely dog a last, affectionate pet on its head before he stood, addressing the man for the first time, “How can I help you?”

The man didn’t stare too long. The man didn’t tense, or glare, or twitch. The man didn’t give him any reason to think something was _wrong_ with how they were meeting.

Instead, the man smiled, “I’m new in town. Thought I’d find a vet.”

The first time they met, he had smiled back, “You’re off to a good start. What’s the dog’s name?”

The man’s smile didn’t falter at all, “Buddy.”

\--

He files paperwork to register the man as a client, and Buddy as a patient. He was a nice enough man, really. And what a lovely dog.

\--

The second time he met the man, they managed conversation well enough.

“Are you originally from Wisconsin?” The man asked, as Buddy got a routine check-up.

He smiled as he gave Buddy a happy pat, “Born and raised. Haven’t left since.”

The man’s only response was a slow nod, “I can see why. Great neighborhood.”

He watched as Buddy enthusiastically ate a biscuit from his hand, “It’s quiet. Good place to start a family, you know.”

The man grinned, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

\--

“Hurt his leg, you said?”

“Yeah,” the man frowned. Concerned. Clearly upset, “Snagged it in a prairie dog hole running after something.”

“They’ll do that,” he agreed, preparing Buddy for an X-Ray, “But it looks minor. Maybe a sprain.”

“I appreciate it, Dr. Winslow,” the man said. Though he looked uncomfortable for a moment.

He frowned, “Something the matter?”

“Well,” the man sighed, ran a hand through his hair, “Do you mind if I use your phone? The dog belongs to both me and my girlfriend.”

He hadn’t thought anything of it, passing the nice enough man with a lovely dog his cell, “Green button,” he had coached with a smile as he fed Buddy another treat.

“Thanks, I appreciate it—“ the man started to punch in buttons on his phone, but paused, “Sorry, looks like you have a text message…”

He took the phone back and looked down at the screen.

DAISY: want coffee? In town.

He smiled. Such a nice girl. Very considerate.

The man’s stare was heavy when he asked his next question, though he didn’t think much of it at the time, “Your daughter?”

He looked up. Blinked, “No, no. Just a nice girl from the college. Thinking about going on to vet school,” a stirring of pride fluttered in his chest for reasons he couldn’t explain, “ _Very_ smart. Too good at cards. Would you like coffee? She’s bringing some by.”

The man is so still and silent, that for the first time he thinks there could be a little something off about this stranger with the lovely dog. But he ignored the little voice in the back of his head—it usually went better that way, in the long run.

“No. That’s alright,” the man said carefully, “Actually. I just remembered I had an errand to run. Would it be alright if Buddy stayed overnight?”

He frowned, “Normally not for a sprain-“

“I’ll pay extra for the lodging.”

He tried to reconcile that little voice with the man who owned a lovely dog. Finally Cal nodded, “…Of course.”

\--

The man returned the next day to pick up Buddy, ten minutes after Daisy had left him with a doughnut for breakfast. Very nice girl. He wished he could see her more.

\--

The fourth time he talks to the man, he was asked an odd question.

“Any recommendations for a travel agent?” The man ruffled the fur of Buddy’s neck, “Thinking about going to Tahiti.”

He tensed, for a moment, as he hit the plunger for Buddy’s shot, “Afraid not. Haven’t been,” he withdrew the needle. Buddy gave a whine, and Cal pet him on the top of the head for being a good boy, “…but I hear it’s a beautiful place.”

\--

…The fifth time he meets the man, it’s after hours in his clinic. He’d been absent-minded, forgot his wallet. And after he unlocks the door to the front office, his hands aren’t even done flipping on the lights when something cold is pressed behind his ear.

Cal Winslow gave a slow swallow, running his tongue over his bottom lip, “The drugs are in the backroom. Unlocked. Take whatever you’re after.”

The man holding the gun to his head only raises his brows up, “I’m not here for drugs.”

Cal’s never been held at gunpoint before. He’s never been robbed. He’s not sure how this is supposed to go, “Then…what do you want?”

“What I want,” and the man pulls something out of his pocket with his other hand. First, Cal’s wallet (come to think of it, it _had_ been missing since Buddy’s appointment that afternoon), then, his phone, “Is for you to make a call.”

He’s never been robbed. But he’s pretty sure this is not how it’s supposed to go, “…a call.”

“Yes, that’s it.” The man withdraws the gun from Cal’s head, “Just one little phone call, and you’ll never see me again.”

He took a deep breath, now more confused than afraid. Cal opened his phone, “…to who?”

The man smiled again. One that didn’t seem to belong on the face of Buddy’s owner, “Your friend Daisy.”


	2. Team White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just going to reiterate that this is not a redemption story--Ward’s going to be firmly anti-SHIELD throughout the fic. There’s a little bit of Skye/Lincoln here too, though it’s minor and endgame/main ship is going to be Skyeward. This chapter is basically the set-up, more Skyeward interaction to come I promise :’D

 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Coulson asked, that all-too familiar little smirk on his face as he lifted up his elbow over her hospital bed.

At least, she assumed it was a hospital bed. The room had that distinctive…hospital feel. Plexiglass walls. White. Blinding lights directly in her eyes. Skye groaned, opening and closing her mouth a few times and tasting antiseptic.

With a push, she managed to get into a sitting position. Her sides ached: cracked ribs most likely. So did the back of her head, probably concussion. “…You know that’s going to stop being funny eventually.”

Coulson sent a contemplative look to his partially amputated arm. Shrugged. “I think I’m entitled to at least three more.”

She grinned despite herself, “Don’t spend them all in one place.”

The older man shifted in his seat by her bedside, “Stop getting concussions and maybe I’ll have more to go around. Hunter’s starting to get jealous,” he tilted his head and sent a brief, assessing scan down her body, “How you feeling?”

“Like I was run over by a truck.”

“Accurate. Though I understand the mission was a success.”

Skye took a breath. Closed her eyes. Tried to get her bearings and collect herself. The mission had been simple reconnaissance on a suspected arms dealer for Hydra. Simple, until Lincoln had somehow managed to blow his cover. Then it went full FUBAR faster than Skye could recite what the acronym stood for.

She ran her tongue over her lips, “What do you mean? Our cover was blown before we could get any real intel.”

Coulson leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, “Well. The arms dealer is now in custody. So I’m sure we can get something from him.”

Skye sighed, absently looking at the IV in her hand, “Is he okay?”

“He was rather upset about no HBO in the holding cells.”

“Not the dealer. Lincoln.”

“Sprained ankle. I think he’ll manage,” Coulson rubbed a finger over his chin, “Though espionage may not be his strong suit.”

The jello on the food tray started to jiggle, just a little. “It was my call to have him act like the buyer.”

“But not your fault he blew his cover. How’d that happen so spectacularly, by the way.”

Skye smirked, though she wasn’t sure she entirely felt it—probably because of that whole. Concussion thing. And if not that, definitely the morphine thing. “Turns out improvising a French accent without knowing French doesn’t actually help the cover story.”

“Quelle surprise,” Coulson deadpanned. After a moment he rested his hand on Skye’s knee, “…Teams are messy, Skye. And leading one is even messier. I would know.”

The jello stopped wobbling. “So what do you do? Trust exercises?”

Coulson patted her leg once more before standing to leave, “No,” he smiled at her one last time before walking out the door, “I usually call May.”

A small laugh escaped her lungs, causing her ribs to feel like vicegrips once more. Skye flopped against the pillows and looked up into that bright, sterile light. A migraine started to bloom somewhere above the bridge of her nose.

Coulson’s head popped back into view as he stuck it back into the frame of the doorway, “Bye the way, she wants you at a mission debriefing in an hour.”

Skye looked down at her arms, and the several patches of medical tape. Took a deep breath. Then started the now-familiar process of pulling out the IV needle, “I hate medbay.”

\--

“Good to see you up, Tremors,” Mack’s voice boomed from down the hall.

Skye paused, turning around to see the engineer walking her way. She managed a small smirk, “Only out, what? Six hours this time?”

“Seven,” Mack easily stepped in line with her, and the two of them started walking towards the debriefing room, “Two shorter than the last time your team was brought in.”

She caught the quiet evaluation in his words, and bit down on her lower lip, “…Teams are messy.”

Mack snorted, “So it does actually count as a team when there’s only two of you?”

“Two and a half,” Skye quickly corrected, “Mike is technically reserve on the roster.”

“Oh the _roster,_ ” he shook his head, “That’d be the one that doesn’t exist, right?”

“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

“Cute.”

The doors slid open, and Skye was barely across the threshold before Lincoln was coming towards her. She tensed, waiting for the inevitable hug that would jar her ribs again, but was pleasantly surprised when he just rested his hands on her upper arms.

“I’m sorry-“

Skye shook her head, her gaze meeting Coulson’s across the debriefing room, “No. It was my fault, I made a bad call. You weren’t ready for undercover-”

Lincoln was frowning when she brought her attention back to him, “If it wasn’t for you, we’d be dead,” he said simply, “Because I screwed up.”

Skye managed to smile, “Fine, you’ve convinced me. We both screwed up.”

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, “Guess that means I’m buying beer tonight.”

“Only if it’s whiskey.”

Lincoln seemed to want to follow up with something, but as he hesitated to form words, May strode into the room, stone-faced as ever. Skye took a step back, and his hands slid from her arms. As May took her place directly behind the table, Skye took her customary one next to Coulson and-

“Coulson, where’s Fitz?”

Coulson kept staring straight ahead, but his jaw tightened just a little, “He’ll be sitting this one out.”

“Is he alright?”

“Fine enough, considering the circumstances.”

Skye stomach gave a little twist. Like it always did, whenever she thought of Simmons. “…still in the containment lab, then.”

“Probably will be for a while. Mack will be your engineering consultant for this run.”

Skye blinked, “Wait. _My_ -?”

“That’s right. Now we’d better be quiet. May has the same expression she did on the Ukraine run eleven years ago. Eighteen armed men. Lots of pleas for mercy.”

May’s face, Skye thought, looked about the same as always. Though one of her eyebrows arched in a quiet sort of gratitude as she opened up a computer file.

“We have a budget,” she said simply, and on the desk a three-dimensional holodisplay popped up. Skye watched, as an electric-blue map of the world took over the space. Soon, flickering white lights began to appear. She counted quickly in her head: eleven.

“What’s with the lights?” Lincoln asked, leaning over the table to get a bigger look.

Skye gave an amused snort, “Here, it’s like an iPhone-“ she pinched her fingers together over a light, and expanded them enough to blow up that portion of the map.

“Thanks.”

May crossed her arms, “The lights are recently documented Gifted sightings.”

Lincoln and Skye sent each other a furtive look. Lincoln cleared his throat, “Then…”

“Like I said, we have a budget,” May’s stare landed directly on Skye, heavy and expectant, “And you have a new mission.”

Skye’s fingers curled against the glass of the desk, “What is it.”

“We’re assembling a task force,” Coulson said simply, taking a few steps to stand beside May, “With the sudden increase of Inhumans out in the open-“

“We were always out in the open,” Lincoln said tensely, “Afterlife was a temporary haven, not a base.”

“-and the possibility for splinter extremist groups having access to manufactured Terrigen crystals, we need to have an ear on the ground.” Coulson spared Lincoln a quick glance, but like May, his attention was focused primarily on Skye, “We’d like you to be that ear.”

“You want me to hunt down Inhumans?” Skye asked in disbelief.

“If they’re hostile,” May’s voice was stern, “And if that’s the case, they only need to be taken into custody. Not killed unless circumstances demand.”

“And if they’re not hostile?” Lincoln asked quietly, eyes trained on the white lights.

Coulson’s eyes darted from Inhuman to Inhuman. He took a moment before speaking, “This isn’t an easy situation by any means. But we need to know what’s going on, and that includes knowledge about any potential threats.”

“You can’t be serious-“ Lincoln outburst.

“You want to Index them,” Skye’s fingers curled into loose fists, and she watched the lights flicker before her. Eleven. Eleven _people_.

“It’s for their safety as well as any civilians,” Coulson said softly, “No one without at least a level seven security clearance will have access to the index sets. And, if they need it, we’ll provide training and resources to help with their powers.”

Her lips morphed into a scowl, “Like in a cabin.”

“That’s your call.”

Skye’s head snapped away from the map, “What?”

May and Coulson shared a glance between them. It reminded Skye painfully of the type of look parents might give each other before handing over the keys to the family car. Not that she’d ever had that exact experience--she’d hotwired her van at seventeen.

“May and I have discussed this, and we want you to lead the task force, Skye.”

“You’re ready,” May said simply, “And having an Inhuman overseeing the process might reduce any unnecessary casualties.”

“You want us to police our own people,” Lincoln’s disapproval was apparent in his tone.

“Not police,” Coulson, reached down and pointed at a spot on the map. If she had to guess, she’d say it was somewhere in Brazil, “Guide. Like the Elders,” he paused, “though without the wanting to ruin humanity part. You and Skye, as well as any other experienced Inhumans we might recruit, can head this facility—“ he zoomed in, and Skye looked at a modern, grey building that reminded her of FitzSimmons’ academy, “and use it as you see fit,” his mouth curved into a crooked smile, “In case of…misguided Gifted.”

“And if they want nothing to do with SHIELD?” Lincoln pressed.

“Then they go on their way with an embossed business card. Just in case.”

Skye became acutely aware of when everyone’s attention focused on her. She ignored the stares, trying to take a minute to puzzle the situation out. Her eyes drifted from white dot to white dot. Person to person. Her hand absently brushed her opposite forearm, remembering the phantom pain of fissuring her own bones. Her eyes drifted to what was left of Coulson’s arm. She remembered Tripp, the slow crawl that broke him apart.

Skye took a deep breath. Released it slowly. Tried to get that 61 heartrate count once more.

“Okay. But Indexing is second priority.”

“Skye-“ Lincoln started, but May cut him off.

“What’s first.”

She drummed her fingers on the table again. The patter was similar to the sound of fingers hitting a keyboard, “We figure out if there’s any Terrigen crystals left out there. Secure those,” she sent her fellow Inhuman a quick look, “And Lincoln’s in charge of the training facility.”

“What?” He asked, eyes widening.

Skye shrugged, “You spent more time at Afterlife. You know how this is supposed to go. Besides,” she snorted, “I hear my bedside manner sucks. And your French is terrible.”

Lincoln turned to face her, “I signed on for field work.”

“Do both.”

He frowned, “Until we have Terrigen crystals, you mean.”

“Until we have students,” she clarified. After a second, she lowered her voice and covered his hand with her own, “…you know this is the best way to help our people.”

“Our people,” he echoed.

“Yeah. _Ours._ ” Skye withdrew her hand, turning her attention back to Coulson, “How big’s the task force?”

“Two,” May answered, “You and Lincoln, for now. Agent Peterson will be on retainer when he’s not on specialized assignments, and Agent Mackenzie will be serving as your engineering consult should you need specialized tech,” at the sound of his name, Mack inclined his head. May sent Skye a meaningful look from across the table, “Understand that this task force is highly classified.”

Skye tilted her head, “What level?”

“Eight,” Coulson said, “Though knowledge of the training facility won’t be leaving this room.”

May pressed another button on the computer, and Skye and Lincoln’s IDs flashed, superimposed over the map, “You’ll be listed in the books as Team White.”

“For the record, I suggested Secret Warriors-“ Coulson commented, receiving a tight-lipped glare from May.

“Both Coulson and I will serve as your SOs and points of contact,” May continued, “though the task force emphasizes discretion. You’ll be on your own for most of the field work,” when May addressed her next, Skye heard the same, reserved note of protectiveness May normally held when she was serving as her direct SO, “Can you handle this?”

Skye swallowed. Her own task force. Her own solo missions. And…she looked at Lincoln.

Her first time being responsible for a team.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

May looked at Lincoln. He sighed, but nodded.

“I’m in.”

“Good,” May said, though her chin raised in that slight movement Skye had come to identify as her way of showing pride, “You’ll have thirty-six hours of downtime to review intelligence files. Then we’ll prep you for departure. Dismissed.”

As members of SHIELD gradually filtered out of the room, Skye stayed put in front of the map. Her eyes tracked the flickering lights. Whatever this mission turned out to be, it was for the long haul. And deep cover. She zoomed in on some of the flickering points on the map, taking in the cities.

San Francisco. Vancouver. Cape Town. Accra. Barcelona. Auckland. Qingdao. Ankara. Melbourne. Reykjavik. Valencia.

Skye exhaled, “If you’re going to say something, just say it.”

Lincoln remained where he was, staring at the same lights Skye was staring at. For a few moments, he seemed to be mulling a few things over in his mind. Skye waited for him to figure out what it was he wanted to say. When he finally spoke, his words caught her off-guard.

“I think we could both use that drink right about now.”

_If we both survive this, how about we get that drink?_

Skye swallowed, taking down the map with a wave of her hand, “Yeah. Sure.”

\--

“You okay?”

Skye startled, looking up from the patch of green she was staring at on the pool table, “What?”

Lincoln gave her a lopsided grin, resting his weight partially against the frame, “It’s your shot. And you haven’t blinked in about two minutes.”

The rec room in the base was thankfully empty besides the two of them, and Skye had been nursing her singular glass of whiskey for the better part of twenty minutes as her and Lincoln played snooker. They seemed to have reached a consensus not to talk shop during this time, no Inhumans. No mission. And while Skye was relieved to have the slight reprieve, she was preoccupied.

“Right, sorry,” she shook her head, leaning down to line up a shot.

“Gave me a chance to move some things around.”

Skye rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry, I’ll still kick your ass.”

She pulled back her cue. Snapped it forward. A solid 4 ball rolled into a corner pocket, “Boo yah,” she muttered without much heart.

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Lincoln edged around the table, “Here, try for the 6. Let me have an attempt at dignity.”

Skye surveyed the table. The six ball was wedged between two of Lincoln’s. But she shrugged, “Alright. If I get it you buy another round.”

“The rounds here are free.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Fair enough,” Lincoln rested his cue under his chin, but his eyes followed her as she moved to set up her next shot, “…how are your ribs?”

Sore. “Fine,” Skye smirked, “How about your ankle?”

“Agonizing. Can’t go two steps without swooning,” he shook his head, “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me. We’re a team. That’s what teams do,” she looked up above the table to meet his gaze, “That’s what we can do. With this task force.”

The smile on Lincoln’s face faltered somewhat, “You trust them.”

“With my life,” she pulled back. Shot. The cue connected to the six-

-which bounced off a bumper just outside the pocket. Damn.

He moved back to the cue, “I guess that has to be enough for now.”

Skye watched as he took aim, shot. Missed, “SHIELD is only trying to keep people safe.”

“Even people like us?”

Skye didn’t move to the shot, keeping her stare level across the table as Lincoln stood, “Yeah. Even people like us. Not everyone who has powers is good-“

“-or evil,” Lincoln finished.

“I know,” Skye inhaled slowly, taking a step to shoot once more, “But they’re giving us the task force. We’ll have control over how this is handled.”

“Until they decide they want to take over.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Seems to work that way.”

“Then why did you even sign on?” Skye muttered, frustrated as she shot and sunk another ball.

“You.”

Skye didn’t move from her leaned over position, though her gaze flickered up, “What?”

Lincoln shrugged, though his stare was more intense than the gesture, “I don’t trust SHIELD. But I trust you.”

She swallowed, “You barely know me.”

“I know that you stood up to your friends, then your family, because you wanted to do what was best,” Lincoln lined up his shot when she’d finished, “That’s not easy. And-“ he shot, “-that’s the type of person I’d follow,” he paused, and continued in a slightly quieter tone, “…and that’s the type of person I’d like to get to know better.”

Skye wasn’t sure how to answer that. Instead she cleared her throat after a few seconds of awkward silence, and watched as his cue ball scratched, “…you suck at this.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile, “Any pointers?”

“Besides aim?”

“Besides aim.”

Skye took a sip of her whiskey before setting it down on the nearby stool, moving to stand beside Lincoln. Without thinking, she leaned over from behind him, hovering her arm over his, “You’re pummeling the crap out of the stick, for one,” she grabbed his hand, drawing it back, “All in the wrist- here, move.”

She shifted so she was in front of him, leaning down and completely oblivious to the way Lincoln had tensed behind her, “And you want your aim to be centered on the pocket, not the cue ball- try it out.”

Lincoln bent down over her, and Skye became acutely aware of his warm breath on the back of her neck when he spoke, “Alright, then what?”

“Angle your body so it doesn’t mess up the line of the shot…”

He shifted, a hand framing her side.

“Aaaand,” she shot, “You want to slow down the cue by the time it hits the ball-“

The cue ball hit the six. Sunk it.

“-Boom. Pro.”

She stood, but when Lincoln didn’t back away from her, she slowly turned around. Lincoln stood close, his face hovering only a little bit above her own.

“Easy, right?” She asked, her mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“If you have a good teacher,” he agreed, and his fingers tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Skye took a deep breath. She remembered the last guy to pull that particular move. And how that didn’t exactly end well, “Lincoln.”

“Skye,” he leaned down.

It was clear that he was going to kiss her. Lincoln was going slow enough that she had enough time to back off, but for some reason she hesitated. Lincoln wasn’t bad. He wasn’t Ward. And she’d be a sorry agent if she didn’t recognize the signals he’d been throwing her way since they returned from the ship and he enlisted with SHIELD.

She just wasn’t sure what she wanted them to mean.

Lincoln angled her chin up-

_“We are the champioooons my friiiiiiiend-“_

-and her phone rang. Skye silently swore. Queen was the ringtone for the private line. And Skye could count on one hand the number of people who had the number.

Skye winced, “Sorry, I need to take this.”

Lincoln sent her a bemused look, but abruptly stepped away. The mood effectively murdered by the Freddie Mercury octaves, “Right. I’ll just. Grab us another round.”

Skye watched Lincoln go back to the rec room’s fridge, before she looked down at her phone.

_INCOMING CALL: CAL_

And frowned. It was almost one in the morning. Why would…

Anxiety twisted a knot in her stomach, as Skye picked up the phone and swiped it, “Hey, Cal. What’s going on?”

Silence. The knot grew in size.

“Cal? You there?”

A deep, ragged breath. Skye’s knuckles went white from her grip.

“Cal!”

She heard him swallow. And when Cal finally spoke, his words were perfectly calm. Measured.

_“Would you like to go to Tahiti with me, Skye?”_

Her breath hitched. The line went dead.

Lincoln shot her a concerned glance as he made his way back to the pool table, “Everything okay?”

She numbly pulled down the phone from her ear. Stared at it. And shook her head.

“…he called me Skye.”


End file.
